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But the swift only laughed at him. “There is no better place than a chimney to raise young birds. I should be uneasy about them every minute in a tree. And as for a whole nest, I don’t know what you mean,” said she.

And when Pease-Blossom saw that she was well content with her home, he thanked her and bade her good-bye, and began his climb down the chimney.

There was no light to show him the way except the little that the moon sent through the opening high above the swift’s nest; and on all sides of the little fay were the straight narrow walls of the chimney, covered with black soot. He clung to them as closely as a lichen to a rock, putting his little toes into every crack and holding fast to the bits of cement that jutted out here and there from the bricks. If he rustled a wing he brought down a shower of soot upon himself, and when at last he stood in the Giant’s room, he was as black as any goblin.

He had no time to think of himself though, for there asleep in the golden cage which the moon had seen was the queen’s nightingale. There was no mistaking her, for there was a tiny feather missing from the tip of her right wing, and that missing feather was in Pease-Blossom’s Sunday cap hanging in an alder bush in the fairy dell that very minute.

The Giant was asleep, too, but the golden cage was on a table close beside him, so close that poor Pease-Blossom, whose wings were not improved by the soot from the chimney, could not reach it without climbing upon the Giant’s bed.

He was as careful as he could be, but no sooner had he stepped upon the bed than he touched one of the Giant’s toes; and the Giant gave a great start.

“What is the matter?” called his wife.

“Oh, nothing,” said he; “I only dreamed that a little mouse was tickling my toes;” and he fell asleep again.

Pease-Blossom did not dare to move till he heard him breathing heavily. Then, tiptoe across the counterpane he went, taking care at every step; but in spite of his care his wings brushed against one of the Giant’s hands; and the Giant gave a great start.

“What is the matter?” called his wife.

“Oh, nothing,” said he; “I only dreamed that a little leaf fell on my hand;” and he closed his eyes, and turned over on his side and was soon asleep.

Pease-Blossom was close under the cage by this time, but so tall was the table on which it was, and so small was he that, to reach the door, he was forced to stand on the Giant’s head.

Light as thistle-down were his feet, but no sooner had the Giant felt their tread than he gave a great start, and lifting his hand struck himself a tremendous blow upon his forehead. Pease-Blossom would have been crushed to death had he not managed to spring, just at that instant, to the edge of the cage, where he stood trembling.

“What is the matter?” called the Giant’s wife.

“Oh, nothing,” said he; “I only dreamed that a fly lighted on my forehead,” and he was soon breathing heavily again.

The nightingale, who was not used to sleeping at night, anyway, was wide awake by this time, but when she saw Pease-Blossom she did not know him, so black was he.

“Do you not remember the fairy dell and the little fay to whom you gave a feather for his cap?” said Pease-Blossom then; and when the nightingale heard that, she was so overjoyed that she could scarcely keep from bursting into song.

To open the cage door was only a minute’s work and the nightingale was soon as free as air. Pease-Blossom seated himself upon her back and she was just ready to fly through an open window near by when the giant waked up in real earnest and saw the open cage.